


Welcome to Purgatory

by rainingiris



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: Demon Hunters, F/F, F/M, Homophobia, M/M, Major Character Injury, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7286533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainingiris/pseuds/rainingiris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I’m trying to open my eyes, but for some reason, it feels like I’m scared to. I know that when I open eyes something won’t be there. Without thinking, a few tears run down my face. Why the hell am I crying? Why does it hurt to know I lost something? No, not something. Someone. Someone important.</p><p>Find out what happens to Jonathan after he wakes up in purgatory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dealing with Death

**Author's Note:**

> I recently found Welcome to Hell and I love it. After watching it a dozen times, I had to write this fic. This is my first work for the fandom and my second fanfiction! Hope you like it.

There’s a fierce pounding in my head. It’s feels as if someone beat my brain like a drum. The pain is worse than any hangover I ever had. Wait. Have I been hungover before? Am I old enough to drink? 

I’m trying to open my eyes, but for some reason, it feels like I’m scared to. I know that when I open eyes something won’t be there. Without thinking, a few tears run down my face. Why the hell am I crying? Why does it hurt to know I lost something? No, not something. Someone. Someone important.

My head begins to swim. My chest constricts and threatens to crush my heart. Bile rises to my mouth. This feeling, the certainty that whoever I lost won’t be here, is making my sick. I crawl on my stomach for a moment. I still don’t open my eyes. 

Who did I lose? Is this person gone for now or gone forever? Then a memory forces its way in. There’s a red carpet. No. That carpet used to be white. It’s soaked in blood. There’s so much blood. No one could survive losing that much blood. 

But he could…

Where did that thought come from? Suddenly, I start balling my eyes out. Because I see a pale hand go limp. I remember holding onto that hand and praying to any deity in the universe that would listen. I bang my fist against the floor. 

“Damn it! Why did he come?”

WHY DID WHO COME WHERE! At this point, I’m frustrated with my conflicting emotions. I continue to cry for someone I’ve forgotten. I continue to punch the floor until my fists bleed. I continue to ask myself, “WHY!”

“Holy smokes, do you remember?”

Hearing the voice snaps my eyes open. Standing before me is a tall, slender man in a black and white striped suit. He taps my head with a cane. 

“I was told you wouldn’t remember a thing for a while.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

The man tsks before saying, “Watch your language, boy, or I’ll give you a real headache.”

His grey eyes then began to turn a red color as his cane turned into a scythe. I try to stand but end up falling flat on my ass. I then crane my neck away from the large scythe barely a centimeter away from my carotid artery. 

“Who, who are you?”

The strange man lowers his weapon. His eyes go back to grey when he cheekily asks, “Shouldn’t you ask who you are first?”

He snaps his fingers and vanishes. I begin to question my sanity and the reality I’ve landed in as my legs try to follow my brain’s commands. After verbally demanding my legs to work (and a lot of silent cursing), I was off the floor. 

The setting for this sick nightmare was a dimly lit room with checkered floors. A red armchair seemed to have magically appeared to my left. I sagged into the chair and stared at the walls covered in various clocks, watches, sundials, and hourglasses. The constant ticking was a mixed blessing. Although it prevented me from being surrounded by silence, the noise was starting to seriously tick me off. 

‘Tick me off’! Good one, Jonathan.

That voice! I know that voice. Whoever that voice belongs to would definitely say that and…

“My name is Jonathan. Jonathan Combs.”

“Attaboy!”

I did not scream when I heard a voice from behind me. I also remained perfectly calm when I found myself face-to-face with the man from earlier. 

“Why are you upside down!” I silently added, “I thought I got rid of you.”

The man shrugged. “I was just hanging until you were ready.”

He snapped his fingers again and reappeared on a rocking chair.

“Woah, I’m beat. You see, Jonathan, I was just taking care of some business down at Cairo. There was a cave-in at an archaeological site. Nasty stuff but could have been worse.”

“How could you have been at Cairo and how are you tired? You were only gone for a second.”

The man’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Was I? You never know when you’re in this room.”

The moment he stood up a fireplace appeared in front of him. He reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a pipe. 

“Never smoke, my boy. Smoking can kill.” He chuckled. “Glad I don’t have to worry about that.”

He then rested his arm by the fireplace opening and gazed into the fire before continuing. “I can see you’re all balled up, so I’ll try to be clear. First off, we are in my office, which happens to be in a place between the bigwigs upstairs and the hell blazers down below.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me we’re in purgatory?”

“You know, for getting hit in the head, your mind sure works like grease lighting. Most people can’t comprehend the places I first mentioned are real before the fact they’re here sinks in.”

I crossed my arms and said, “I’m guessing you’re Death.”

“I’m called many things, but you can refer to me as Azriel. I’ll cut to the chase, Jonathan. I may have all the time in the world, but mortals do not. Every minute, something new happens, and I’m collecting souls, helping lost souls, or protecting souls who are not ready to face Judgement. Long story short, I’m a very busy guy. After the Black Death, I knew I needed more help, so I began to hire Reapers.”

My eyes uncharacteristically widened. (Somehow I know I don’t really show my emotions.) “You want me to be a Reaper? Like the Grim Reaper?”

Azriel uneasily replied, “I can’t give you a permanent gig since you’re not dead.”

He quickly added, “Yet.”

Azriel snapped his fingers. Before I could process what the Angel of Death had told me, said angel popped from behind me. 

“You are in the unique position to decide your fate. Option A is I call Mephistopheles and he drags you to Hell. Option B is Providence, my boss, takes you to Heaven. Option C is that you wake up on earth with a few memories, and you become a part-time Reaper.”

I give Azriel my most apathetic look as I ask, “What would I do if I choose option C?”

The angel gave me a toothy grin. “You would join a new class of Reapers whose sacred duty is to hunt those on Mephistopheles’ and Providence’s lists.”

“You want me to kill people!”

“Not really people. Most of your targets would be rogue demons and tainted angels along with the occasional supernatural monster or necromancer.” 

I crossed my arms again. “So what happens if I choose A or B?” 

Azriel’s smile fell. “Well, with option A, you would spend eternity organizing some hall of phobias. And I think my boss mentioned that you would be a warrior angel who guards the main gate.”

I groaned as I said, “So I’m either some glorified secretary or security guard?”

Then I asked, “Why would I even want to go to Hell?”

The Angel of Death shrugged. “You could choose option C and live to find out.”

I rolled my eyes as I took out my hand. “I guess you’re my boss then.”

Azriel vigorously shook my hand. “You shan’t live to regret this, Jonathan! I’ll give you two weeks after you wake up to gather your bearings. You’ll begin training after orientation. We’ll discuss the details of the job after you have completed your training. It’ll be a pleasure to work with you.”

The moment I released the angel’s hand, I found myself alone in a hospital room covered in bandages. I looked to the nightstand to see a plastic cup filled with pink weeds. Before I knew it, I began crying again. I felt a heavy weight on my chest. 

“Why…?” Do I miss you?


	2. Look Alive; It’s Showtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on a job, Jonathan remembers the events leading to him becoming a part-time Reaper. After finding his mark, he gets a blast from his past.

The music was God awful and was so loud that the walls of the club shook. Jonathan hated how most of the clubs he went to for work only had radio trash with added beats. He ignored the glares he received when he blasted Valhalla Soundbox on his phone and put on his favorite purple headphones. He didn’t give a damn what people thought of him. Besides, he had to save his eardrums from some song called “Blow My Blowpop.” 

The place reeked of cheap alcohol and cigarettes. The girls next to him smelled like smoke and looked like they were high enough to wave hello to Providence. The guy at the corner of the bar puked whatever beer he chugged. Five years ago, these smells would have distracted him from detecting the faint scent of sulfur. 

Jonathan sighed. He was seventeen when he woke up in East Baptist Hospital with bandages covering most of his face, ribs, and right arm. He was told by the doctor that he was hit in the head with some falling debris. The police also told Jonathan there was a struggle between him and his classmate, Zack Melto. Apparently, Zack had a switchblade and managed to cut Jonathan across his cheek, slash his right arm multiple times, and break his ribs before setting Jonathan’s house on fire. He was told by some Criminal Minds wannabe that Zack was “a very disturbed young man.” Jonathan didn’t need a degree to tell him that. The man and the police then proceeded to lay out a story where Zack was a homophobic nutcase who stalked Jonathan and came into his house with the intentions of sending him to Hell. 

They showed Jonathan copies of notes Zack sent him and Lil. He shuddered when he read a few of them. The memories of the notes flooded his mind like a broken dam. 

WHY DON”T YOU JUST KILL YOURSELF FAG?  
…NO ONE WOULD MISS YOU IF YOU WERE GONE…  
...DO US A FAVOR AND LEAVE YOU DAMN HOMO!

There was more but the last note made Jonathan’s blood run cold.

THIS ISN’T THE END. I’LL SEE YOU BOTH IN HELL. IT’S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME.

For some reason, Jonathan had a suspicion that Zack wasn’t referring to Lil when he wrote ‘you both.’ Jonathan also had a sick feeling that his tormentor knew he would willingly go to Hell. He kept wondering what option he would have chosen if he had all his memories. 

After a week of horrible hospital food and talking with the police, Jonathan was convinced that his encounter with Azriel was nothing more than a coma induced dream. But then Jonathan looked more closely at the pictures of the fire. The fire seemed to have originated from a pentagram drawn on the floor. There were other strange symbols, but what caught Jonathan’s attention the most was that the carpet was still white (besides the parts that were burned). He asked the police if there was someone else at the house during the fire. No matter how many times the lead detective assured Jonathan he and Zack were the only ones there that night and forensics found only their blood at scene, the teenager believed otherwise. 

He kept picturing a pale hand go limp as he held it. Jonathan remembered holding someone as another person shouted, “We have to get out of here!” and then continued to say, “You have to let go.” 

After dreaming of the white carpet drowning in blood and catching on fire, Jonathan confided in Lil. She nervously tugged at her jacket when she told him, “Sorry, Jon, but that’s classified. 

Before he could ask her what she meant, Lil got a call and left the room. Jonathan had another dream of the fire. This time, he heard a voice crying out to him, “I’M HERE! I’ll stay!” When the teenager woke up covered in sweat, he lifted his sleeves and studied his arm. The wounds didn’t look like Zack slashed him with a switchblade three times. They looked more like claw marks. It was then that Jonathan Combs accepted the fact that his dream with Azriel had actually happened and he was going to be a part-time Reaper. 

A day after the dream, Jonathan demanded that Lil tell him if she was a Reaper. She only managed to say that she wasn’t exactly a Reaper but worked for Azriel before Jojo popped into the room and whisked her away to some other dimension for a few days. (She apologized when she came back from her romantic getaway while Jojo shouted, “I already paid the drachmas before all this demon shit happened and I couldn’t get a refund!”) Before the poor teen had a chance to say, “What the fuck just ha—” he was in Azriel’s office with a scythe at his throat.

“Didn’t I tell you to watch your mouth, boy?”

All of that along with finding out Lil’s mysterious girlfriend is a guardian angel and Jonathan was almost killed during a ritual to empower a demon happened ten years ago. 

“Date gone wrong?”

The question snapped Jonathan’s mind back to the present. He turned around to see Jessica Rabbit’s twin sister in a blue strapless dress. She smelled like she dumped an entire bottle of perfume on her skin. Jonathan’s lip quirked up only a tad. No matter how much she tried, his mark couldn’t hide the scent of sulfur and decay. 

“Why do you say that?”

“This isn’t exactly your scene.”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow and stared ahead. “What gave it away?”

“Maybe it was the headphones or….”

She took off his headphones so she could whisper in his ear. “That hot I-don’t-care-about-anything look.”

The demon could have done better than that. With lids half opened, the Reaper said, “I’m not interested in going on the dance floor.”

She placed her hands on her hips as she asked, “What are you interested in?”

“Are you that easy?”

The demon grabbed Jonathan’s shirt. “Look, I’m not here for a quickie in a bathroom.” She purred as she ran a finger down his chest. “I want to take my time with you, handsome.”

“Your place or mine?”

Her smile went from ear to ear. “Yours. The serious ones are always crazy in bed.”

“Sorry to disappoint but I don’t have some secret dungeon fetish.”

“If that’s the first thing that comes to mind, then we are going to a lot of fun.”

Jonathan mumbled, “You have no idea,” as she led him pass the dance floor.

He saw a side door and knew from the blueprints that the door opened to an alley. The Reaper stopped Jessica before she got too close to the front of the club. 

“Do you mind if we make a detour. I got to smoke.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t seem the type.”

Jonathan took out a zippo and tapped his pocket with it. “I tried quitting but what can I say, you have been a terrible influence on me.”

“We only just met.”

As Jonathan opened the door to the alleyway he said, “Then imagine what a few hours will do.”

She tugged at his tie. “Oh, it’ll be more than a few hours.” The demon then whispered, “I’ll wait five minutes.” 

“Five minutes is more than enough time.”

The moment the Reaper closed the door, he summoned his scythe. The demon pursed her lips. 

“I should have known you were a stiff pusher.”

Jonathan pointed his scythe at the demon. “Melena Kane, congrats; you’re on your boss’s list.”

She pretended to pout. “I don’t know why Meph’s upset. I always fill my quota.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t give you overtime for possessing your counterparts’ corpses and eating souls.”

“He’s just mad that he can’t claim them.”

Jonathan’s scythe then started to glow a bright green color. “And Providence is pissed those souls are lost.”

“Well, I hate to ruffle her feathers.”

Without any hesitation, the demon launched herself at Jonathan. The Reaper moved to his right and swung his scythe when she tried to swipe at him. The demon howled when one her arms hit the pavement. One of the corpse’s arms was then replaced with a red scaly limb. 

“Have you forgotten I ate a dozen souls?”

With unnatural speed, Melena roundhouse kicked Jonathan and sent him on his back. 

“I’m stronger than any of your past targets.”

The severed arm on the floor then started to inch its way to the fallen Reaper. Jonathan tried to swipe at her legs while he was down, but she jumped over the scythe each time. Melena then grew tired of their demented game of skipit. As he was swinging at the demon, the arm started to strangle Jonathan. He fought to get the arm off of his neck while keeping Melena from ripping his chest open with her razor-like claws. 

“I thought collecting my final human soul would be more fun.”

When Melena attempted to take Jonathan’s scythe away from him, the staff burned her hands. Within seconds, her fingers were covered in bursting blisters. She screamed as her last counterpart’s flesh began to catch on fire. Her cries only grew as the outer layers of her fingers started to peel off. The flames continued to dance along her stolen palm and her own as the peeled layers oozed yellow fat. While Melena was cursing Jonathan and watching her mangled hands burn, he took off his tie. He looked more than a bit smug as he stood up. 

“They always go for the scythe when they think they’ve won.”

Melena roared with rage. She charged at Jonathan and tried to burn him with her lit hands. Jonathan caught her forearm and wrapped his tie around her hand. The tie acted as a wick. It kept the fire going long enough to distract the demon as Jonathan slashed her throat. Melena’s host body crashed onto the hard pavement. Her black oily blood was seeping from the torn throat. The Reaper knew that Melena was bonded to her host’s corpse. She could take on a more physical existence on earth for as long as the corpse’s heart was intact. He began to draw a pentagram with chalk. 

Blood bubbled around her mouth as she begged Jonathan, “Please, don’t…don’t send me back. I know things. I know…know how to make you stronger.”

“Not interested.” 

He dragged Melena by the legs to the center of the pentagram. She kicked him and dug her high-heel in Jonathan’s leg. Since he was distracted, Melena took the opportunity to crawl away from the pentagram. She was about to stand when Jonathan severed her leg with a single swipe. 

“I was planning on just giving the final blow right before I sent you away, but you had to piss me off.”

“No! No more. Please. Please!”

Jonathan picked her up. With a loud thud, she landed on the pentagram. He then drew a large rune ‘M’ on a corner. 

“Don’t send me to Meph! I…I know there’s two demons after you!”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

Jonathan grabbed his zippo. Melena’s eyes widened and the blood along her throat began to bubble madly like a boiling pot. She knew what was coming next. 

“Wait! They know you. They know you…!”

Jonathan pointed his scythe at her throat again. “I should have finished the swipe in the first place.”

“They know you from before!”

That made Jonathan pause. He kept his scythe an inch or tow away from the demon’s slashed throat when he asked, “Before what?”

“Before you lost your memories.”

The demon gave the Reaper a sharp-toothed grin when Jonathan lowered his scythe. 

“I can tell you who they are.”

“I have a better idea.”

Jonathan dropped the zippo and watched as the demon along with the edgings of the pentagram caught on fire. 

“Send them my regards when you see you Mephistopheles.” 

Before the pentagram became surrounded by a crimson light, Jonathan stabbed the body’s heart thus releasing Melena from her host. He could finally see the demon’s true form. She was a scarlet creature with black ram horns and a short serpent-like tail that threatened to whip Jonathan’s heels. Melena spat black blood at the Reaper.

She then hissed with her forked tongue, “You fool! He will find you and I’ll see you soon enough!”

As the demon was being sent to Hell, twelve glowing orbs floated towards the sky. Jonathan watched the lost souls look for Providence. He knew Azriel would come to collect them and guide them to their proper destinations. 

He then heaved a long, suffering sigh. Jonathan loved his co-workers (not that he’d ever admit it to Jojo) and some of the perks that came with being a Reaper, but he couldn’t bring himself to love his job. He hated the pain he unleashed on his marks. Being honest with himself, he knew they didn’t give him a choice more than half of the time, but guilt still hit him in waves. The only thing that helped Jonathan was his check-ins with Providence. 

“Sugar, I know this job isn’t easy, but maybe that’s a good thing. The last thing you want is to become more like your marks. The moment you lose yourself to the rush of the hunt is when you lose all that makes you Jonathan Combs.” 

After the first and only group therapy session he had, Jojo told him, “Hey, you do what you have to do out there. Remember, the world’s a better place with those monsters off the streets. Besides, me and Lil are counting on you and if you let her down, so help me Combs, I will drag your sorry ass to a place even Mephistopheles won’t dare to go to.”

Oddly enough, he felt much better after the session. 

“Wow, Johnny Boy. That one was a doozie.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. He didn’t even bother to turn around. 

“You took your sweet time getting here.”

Azriel dusted off his suit pants. “Despite what the other Holy Joes say, I do more than play tour guide to traveling souls.” 

Jonathan still didn’t face Azriel as the Angel of Death looked around the alley. He gave a low whistle. 

“You sure love to make a mess for Bob. I’m just happy the poor sap don’t have to wipe anyone’s memories tonight.”

“If you really feel bad for Bob, then why don’t you promote him to a paid intern?”

“I don’t feel that bad for him.”

The angel twirled his cane for a bit as he said, “The kid doesn’t need any payment. He’s lucky I saved him from making Mephistopheles’ database of suicide vics.” 

Azriel walked to Jonathan’s left. The Reaper was surprised to see his boss’ suit covered in black blood stains. There was a long slash across one of his pant legs to where Jonathan could see most of Azriel’s knee-high sock. His normally slicked back hair was sticking up in all kinds of directions and his bowtie was hanging by a thread. 

“Did you and Rip have a fight?”

Azriel chuckled. “Oh, he’ll be the death of me, I swear, but no. I got this on some last minute business.”

“This wouldn’t happened to be tied to ‘the little errand’ you had Lil and Jojo go on?”

“I truly sent them on an errand. Rip has all the time in the world to plan our anniversary dinner, but I don’t have that luxury. So, I sent the frails to pick a few things up.”

“While I fought a class three demon.”

The Angel of Death waved his hand. “Please. You had the job done in four minutes and thirty-six seconds.” 

Jonathan was fixing himself up when he asked, “If it didn’t take so long, then why are you checking on me?”

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t going off to do something crazy.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, ask Bob to visit your old friend, Zach, or catch any chitter on two demons.”

“Is it true?”

Azriel shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. You know better than to trust a demon.”

Jonathan sadly nodded. He knew from training and personal experiences that demons would say anything to get what they want, but there was a small piece of him that hoped Melena was telling the truth. He had to find out what happened to him ten years ago. From Azriel’s attempts of blocking any lead he got and his friends’ worried faces, it was more than some punk raising a class one demon. 

The Angel of Death stared at the floating orbs for a moment before saying, “My break’s over.”

His cane turned into a scythe as he said, “Remember, don’t take any wooden nickels, especially from a pretty face.”

With that piece of advice, the angel vanished along with the orbs. Jonathan waited until Bob showed up at the scene before he started to walk down the street. Although his leg and neck hurt like hell and he wanted a hot shower, Jonathan’s stomach demanded sustenance. He made his way pass another club when he stopped dead in his tracks. 

Right in front of him was the cutest boy he ever laid eyes on. The boy looked no older than fifteen. He had wild chestnut hair that was partially hidden by a grey hoodie. The hoodie seemed familiar to Jonathan as did the way the boy swayed to the music in his head. The dancing made Jonathan focus on the boy’s lower half. It took him awhile to notice the boy was wearing a bright purple skirt. 

“Well, hellooo, hot stuff.”

Suddenly, a memory rammed into Jonathan’s mind like an eighteen-wheeler. He remembered going to get a sandwich and hearing a voice ask, “Hey, hot stuff. See anything you like?”

Jonathan almost forgot to breathe. “Have we, have we met before?”

The boy wiggled his eyebrows as he replied, “Only in my dreams.”

The Reaper rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s the hoodie. It looks like the one I had back in high school.”

The boy then nervously smiled, “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

There was a short awkward pause before Jonathan asked, “Are you even old enough to be here?”

“I’m just as old as you are!”

“I seriously doubt that.”

Azriel explained to Jonathan during orientation that whatever age he finished his initial training would be the age he would look like until he died. (He then mentioned how it would be difficult to hunt rogue demons with the body of a forty-five-year-old.) Even though Jonathan was twenty-seven-years-old, he looked not a day over twenty. 

The boy pouted and mumbled to where Jonathan couldn’t hear, “I’m technically older than you.”

Jonathan stomach seemed to be upset by the Reaper’s delay and roared in protest. 

The boy then let out a mischievous grin as he shook his hips, “Do I look appetizing to you?”

Jonathan had to admit that the stranger was doing funny things to his stomach and his groin. He admitted to himself that it had been years since he was pleasured, especially by a sweet thing like the boy in front of him. He was debating about succumbing to his desires when his stomach grumbled again. He sighed. 

He thought, “What is wrong with you? You talk to the guy for five minutes and already want to bang him.”

The Reaper shoved pass the boy. “I need to get going.”

The stranger seemed disappointed but quickly smiled as he said, “I’ll see you around, hot stuff.”

“I have a name, you know.”

“Well, I do too. But I think it’s more fun if you try to figure it out.”

Jonathan watched the strange boy skip away and then he walked to the nearest hole-in-the-wall diner. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something oddly familiar about the boy. After scarfing down a BLT, he used his scythe to rip a tear in the fabric of the universe, so he could go to purgatory. Once he got to his room, he rummaged through a box of his old things. It was then that Jonathan found a sketchbook. He opened it and almost dropped it on the floor. There was a sketch of the same boy only he was wearing a vest and a red hat with goggles. Jonathan called up Jojo and asked if she knew who the boy was. 

“I can’t tell you much, Combs. I just know he was assigned to you once.” 

Jonathan could tell there was more Jojo knew, but he didn’t press her. That night (he thought it was night, but you can never tell in purgatory) he tossed and turned until he finally gave in to his curiosity. He stared at the sketch of the boy and wondered who he was. 

“Jojo said he was assigned to me and Lil has a guardian angel. And with a face like that…He must be my angel.” 

Jonathan Combs did not know how horribly wrong he was as he drifted off to sleep and Lil and a heartbroken demon ate pie in Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we'll see more Sock and hear why Jonathan can't know about him!


End file.
